


bring me a dream

by withthemonsters



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 11:04:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12505976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthemonsters/pseuds/withthemonsters
Summary: four times daenerys dreams of jon and one time the dream comes true. (in-between-moments of the seventh season)





	bring me a dream

**Author's Note:**

> i have to admit, this came out a lot more different than i first intended. but what's done is done, and i'm really satisfied with the result.

 

❖

**i.**

“ _Jon_.”

His name, on her lips.

It comes out as a sigh, a breathy sound that echoes from the walls as she rolls her hips against his, taking him in deeper, deeper until she feels so full her words become a babbling mess. Her hair, messy and wavy, cascades down her back, over her bare breasts like a river of molten moonlight. She grasps his large hands with her much smaller ones, intertwining their fingers together, and it seems as though that simple gesture creates a connection between them that’s more than just fucking and moaning.

She feels him deep within her, in her bones, in her mind, everywhere.

A sob almost escapes her, because good gods how she has craved that connection with him, that melting of body and mind, and now it’s happening and it’s so much more than she has thought it would be. His eyes are dark like coal, they rest on her grinding body, her pale limbs. He looks at her like she’s his queen, like she’s a goddess, a fantasy priestess. His look, so full of unspoken tenderness and adoration, makes her come undone.

“Gods, Jon,” she cries out softly, her cunt squeezing, milking him until she’s taken it all. “I love you, I love you, _love you_.”

Daenerys wakes the second deafening thunder resounds outside.

She’s panting, she’s trembling, she’s wet. Her heart pounds wildly against her ribcage, pumping excited rushes of blood all through her body. She feels the aftermath of her climax everywhere. It tingles down her spine, it makes goose bumps cover her pale, smooth skin. Lifting her hand, Daenerys rubs it across her chest, across the place where the unexpected emotions and sensations reside the most.

“What in all the world have you done to me, Jon Snow?”

Her whispered question dissolves in the flash of beautiful, deadly lightning.

❖

**ii.**

When he comes down to the beach, he finds he’s not the only only wishing to look upon the restless sea.

Jon falters a little in his steps as he catches sight of silvery hair and delicate limbs, and for a moment he wonders whether he should turn and leave or not. The furs around his shoulders feel too heavy all of a sudden. There’s a lump forming in his throat, something inside him starts to burn and warm, and he needs to take a deep breath to fill his squeezing lugs with much needed air.

Making a decision, he turns around but -

“Do you want to keep me some company, Lord Snow?”

Her voice, low and soft, embraces him like a blanket in the sharp, biting cold. She’s facing the sea when he sets in motion again, coming to a stop next to her. Daenerys looks so delicate in her heavy, dark cloaks. The stark color contrasts against her silver hair and her ivory skin, makes her look like a precious doll. Jon finds himself tongue-tied, his mind completely blank.

“I assumed everyone’s already preparing for bed,” he speaks, his voice deep and hoarse, and he needs to clear his throat. In that moment he feels like he’s just seventeen years old again, awkward and uncertain.

When she turns her gaze to him, the breath vanishes from his lungs.

The late evening sun catches her in such a way that, for a moment, she looks like a golden creature from some foreign other world. Her long hair is free of any braids, it falls down her back in loose curls and soft waves, and there’s nothing Jon wants to do more than grasp her locks in his fist and pull her to him, kiss her so passionately that she’ll find herself without breath and sense after he’s done with her lips.

He doesn’t miss the irony.

Just two moons ago, he thought her haughty and arrogant. He can still remember the way she has sat upon her throne, her eyes hard and unyielding, commanding him to bend the knee and acknowledge her as his queen.

“Well, you assumed wrong.” Her voice gets carried away with the wind. “I enjoy looking at the sea, the crashing waves just before going to bed. It helps me sleep better, as strange as it sounds.”

Jon follows her gaze to where the sea stretches out in front of them. The air around them has settled to a soft, silvery blue. Dusk is here and the sun has long gone, though the light seems to stay, burning the area where the sea kisses the sky and the mountains fade into the night. There’s a fresh breeze coming off the water and he can hear the steady rhythm of the waves as they pound into the shore.

“Aye,” he rasps, “It has a certain calming effect.”

She smiles at his words, her pink lips parting slightly, curling upwards in an amused fashion.

_But damn, her smile’s fucking gorgeous_ , he thinks and stares a little too obvious.

Daenerys notices.

Her cheeks color softly, and she looks so pretty in that moment that Jon’s heart flutters like a newborn bird whose wings are all battered and bloodied. It has been ages since he remembered how to have a heartbeat. He yearns to reach out for her, feel her warm and soft and alive against the hard lines and edges of his body. It’s crazy to have these thoughts about her, because one part of him knows that it’s wrong, that he can’t allow himself to have that, but another part relishes in it, breathes it in like it’s clean air after long days of dirtiness and filth.

“I should go,” she says quietly, her voice accompanied by the sounds of the waves. “We need all the rest we can get.”

He nods soberly. “Have a good night, your Grace.” “

You too, …” She takes a shaky breath, “ _Jon_.”

❖

_sometimes he wonders if he’s falling in love with her_

_sometimes he wonders how long he can pretend he isn’t_

❖

**iii.**

When she dreams of him again, she finds his head buried between her thighs and her hands tugging at his inky black curls.

“Oh my …” She arches her back, trying to stifle a gasp, but the sensations overrunning her are far too wonderful to try and conceal them. He has one of her legs draped over his shoulders, his mouth feasts upon her as though he's an animal starved.

It's so, so good.

Daenerys feels like there's magic coursing through her blood in this moment.

His tongue teases her pearl, drawing small, gentle circles across that swollen nub, softly blowing air on it. Every flick of his tongue, each lick, suckle, and kiss drive her insane. It's like he's writing poetry on her heated intimate flesh.

“Does this feel good, Dany?” Jon breathes, his voice husky and warm. His deep, dark eyes stare up at her from between her thighs.

“Yes, yes,” she replies in a whimper, grinding her hips against his face, wanting to come closer. “Please don't stop, _please_.”

Daenerys awakes at the sound of his soft laugh.

❖

**iv.**

She can't look him in the eye anymore.

They're standing around the table in the council room, every one of them, and Tyrion and Varys and Jorah are engaged in a heated discussion as to how they could arrange a meeting with Cersei Lannister.

Daenerys clasps her hands in her lap and dares a secret glance at him.

Jon has his arms folded across his chest, his hair, so very black, just like his beard, tied in the same fashion that's usual for him. He’s deeply emerged in his own thoughts, those dark eyes of his staring at the map without blinking. He's the most beautiful man she has ever encountered, Daenerys is sure of that.

It's like he can feel her gaze burning into him, because he lifts his head and meets her eyes. There's surprise in his expression, maybe even confusion. He holds her gaze fearlessly, deepest brown meets softest lilac, and she feels like she's drowning in the ocean of him.

She blushes at being caught staring.

Fortunately, Tyrion comes to her rescue.

“Your Grace, what do you think of our suggestion?”

Daenerys feels their gazes on her, heavy and full of expectation. She runs her tongue swiftly across her lower lip, eyes going back to his direction. He’s looking at her mouth, she realizes. Something dangerous churns low in her belly, spreading to the place between her thighs.

“I'm very sorry, it seems my mind has been a little off.” She offers Tyrion an apologetic smile. “What was your exact suggestion?”

“Lord Tyrion wants to meet with Jaime Lannister.”

His voice washes over her like raw silk. Her body tenses the way it does before a storm, before the sky shatters into thunder and lightning.

When Daenerys returns her gaze at Jon, she can feel the others staring at them, without a doubt able to feel the spark between them. She’s not entirely sure how to feel about that, about the others knowing. She assumes they won't be too thrilled, Jorah especially.

“Very well,” she nods.

Her council looks away from her, continuing their discussion.

Jon doesn't.

❖

**v.**

Her third dream is different.

Furs cover her body just so, but she soon realizes that she's dressed in a silky nightgown, not at all naked like in her previous dreams. Her hair is pulled back in a loose braid that falls over her shoulder; still some wavy strands of silver tickle her cheeks and her delicate collarbone.

She's staring straight into the dark eyes of Jon Snow. He lays beside her, his strong features so handsome in the dim light of the candles, less harsh. The way he looks at her, it unsettles her, shakes her deep to the core. His eyes are always so full of adoration and raw honesty when he sets them on her.

Daenerys snuggles further into the sheets and furs, feeling deliciously warm and sleepy.

“Do you love me?” she hears Jon ask, feels his warm touch when he reaches out to brush some silver strands away from her face.

Her lilac eyes twinkle at him. “Of course I do, silly man.”

“Good.” He pauses, swallows. “Then marry me.”

Daenerys awakes at the sound of a knock at her door.

Strangely, there are tears in her eyes.

❖

_she loves him, she realizes one late evening as she runs a brush through her hair_

_i am in love with jon snow, she dares to say into the silence_

_the words feel sweet and safe inside her mouth_

❖

**vi.**

She's the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.

Even at the first meeting, when he has clenched his teeth in anger and frustration at her haughty words, he thought it. Jon’s neither blind nor stupid.

But when she enters the dining hall in red silk, he feels like he's been punched right in the mouth. It must be one of her Meereen dresses, he thinks absently as his eyes roam her figure like a man starved. The silks flow around her body like they're made of water, revealing hints of the soft roundness of her small breasts. Delicate silver chains wind around her back, holding the dress in place, and when she turns slightly, he stares at her bare back, smooth and creamy.

Jon wants to kiss those dimples right above her arse.

“You could have started without me,” Daenerys laughs as she takes her seat. Her laugh reminds him of summer and youth, and he's stunned at how carefree she sounds.

Tyrion dips his head politely. “You look beautiful, your Grace.”

“Thank you, Lord Tyrion. Missandei helped me pick this dress.”

As the conversations start and the wine begins to flow, Jon steals occasional glances at her. She catches him every now and then, but she does not say anything, instead she pretends to be oblivious to it.

“Perhaps you'll be able to melt her with your gaze if you stare any harder,” Ser Davos says with a chuckle.

Jon turns to look at him, embarrassment and frustration washing over him. “Who else noticed?”

Ser Davos seems entirely too amused. “Just about everyone.”

When Daenerys leaves her seat, walking past him to converse silently with Varys, he inhales her like the sharp smoke of burned ashes. She claws her way inside like a blissful virus and starts to eat him alive.

It's mesmerizing.

It's dangerous and reckless and a thousand other things at once.

Jon doesn't mind.

He knows he should.

❖

_he's already lost_

_he's already in love_

❖

**vii.**

Small fingers grasp her hand.

Daenerys blinks her tears away, her heart overflowing with love, as she stares down into the ivory crib. Her babe lays there on his back, black curls plastered to his forehead, lilac eyes staring up at her intently, watching every move she made.

A laugh bubbles up her throat when he tries to reach his tiny toes.

“Look at how beautiful he is,” she breathes, her feelings overwhelming her. “How happy he is. We made this happen, Jon. We build a better world for our son.”

Strong arms wrap around her from behind, and she hums in content as she inhales the familiar smell of him, like rain and forest.

“I know, Dany,” he breathes against the shell of her ear. “I know.”

Daenerys awakes because she can't breathe.

It's the first time she's been afraid of a dream.

❖

**viii.**

He comes knocking at her door when everyone else is already asleep.

They meet in a frenzy, tongues and teeth clashing together like it's a battle they're trying to win. Hands tug at each other's clothes in a frantic desperation, moans and gasps fill the room. It's their very own music.

“I've wanted to do this for so long,” Jon rasps against her lips, his callused hands caressing her breasts, feeling her heart race against his palm. For some reason it's so comforting to be with her like this, shameless and dirty and completely unapologetic about it.

“I know,” Daenerys whispers because she does. “Believe me, I know.”

Later that night, the ship sails silently into the night and weighs their sweaty, sated bodies into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> ps: thinking about writing a full-blown fic on these two cupcakes.


End file.
